


The Web We Weave

by Redisaid



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/F, because fucking tumblr, don't trust them to keep my sfw shit up, so here it is
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 17:55:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16837534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redisaid/pseuds/Redisaid
Summary: Tumblr drabble collection of my Mercymaker stuff.





	1. Swear Jar

“Are you serious?”

Angela had to admit she had a strange sense of humor. The jar was a joke to herself. No one else was usually around, so who would care? Who would have ever thought that Amelie would be here, holding it, maybe on the edge of laughing. Or maybe that was a scowl forming in-between her eyebrows. It was hard to tell.

Regardless, Angela’s cheeks were suddenly red hot.

She watched Amelie’s eyes scan over the words. I said I wouldn’t hook up with her but then I did it again jar. Bold, but hardly clear in black marker, with 5 Euros, written in fading red. Angela was a doctor, after all. Maybe Amelie couldn’t read her terrible handwriting. Oh, but then she would ask what it said. That would be even worse.

After a moment, Amelie’s brows relaxed. The corners of her mouth lifted slightly. “Really?”

“I, uh, had some mixed feelings one night,” Angela offered to explain herself. She shrank back toward the front door of her apartment.

She didn’t bring Amelie here often for many reasons. Her place was filthy. Her place was small. The location was bad. There were no good restaurants nearby and it was a long walk to the train station.

But also, she had a jar nearly full of 5 Euro notes that she threw money into every time she felt guilty about sleeping with Amelie, which was often in the beginning. After that, it was more habit than guilt. But the jar was heavy with paper somehow. She’d been having a hard time cramming notes into it lately. That was a testament to how long their affair had gone on, and how often they found an excuse to continue it.

So that was another reason not to bring her over.

“Many nights, I see,” Amelie said as she twisted the jar around, peering on the side that didn’t have the crude label taped over it and admiring the notes.

“Well, after that first night, it was sort of funny. To me. I guess,” Angela told her. The doorknob was biting into her spine at this point, reminding her that her instinctual reaction to escape was going to end up with worse results than owning up to the jar.

Amelie finally grinned and hefted the jar. “I’ll forgive this thing, if you use it to take me to dinner.”

“I think I can do that,” Angela sighed out and felt the relief hit the back of her teeth like a too potent mint.

So well Amelie showered, Angela counted the notes. Honestly, she was impressed, at both of them, really. 345 Euros. A small fortune.

Amelie came out of her bathroom, toweling her hair. She looked amazing dressed in just one of Angela’s old tshirts and a pair of panties. Hardly lingerie, but Angela didn’t need that from her. It was nice to have her there, in her pigsty of an apartment. She was all Angela’s here, or at least they could pretend that.

“Well, where are you taking me?” Amelie asked. “McDonalds? The base cafeteria? Or did we do well enough to go to the cafe?”

Angela fanned the notes into an impressive spread and waved them at the woman she most certainly did not regret, at least not right now. “Not that I mind what you’re currently wearing at all, but do you have something more…elegant with you?”

“Holy shit,” Amelie replied as she took hold of the money, counting it for herself.

“Yeah, about that…”


	2. Almost Never

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in the Do No Harm universe.

Amelie’s phone chirped with the familiar tone of an incoming text message. She definitely didn’t have it resting on her chest while she laid down on the hideous purple couch and pretended to watch television. She definitely didn’t leave it there to make sure she didn’t miss any incoming messages. She definitely wasn’t waiting for Angela to call her. Definitely not.

Angela usually called, so maybe it wasn’t her. Regardless, the alert stirred Amelie from her vegetative state. She only realized that she’d already seen this episode of the baking competition show she had on when her eyes strayed to the holo screen for a moment and looked at it, not through it. She picked her phone up off of her collarbone and swiped in her security pattern.

It took her two tries. She never used to use one, before. Having something to hide was still new to her.

And it was a good thing she had one too. Gerard was gone for the week, but if he were there, he might have had questions about why the message she had just received was not a text, but in fact, was a picture of a generous pair of breasts.

“…the fuck?” Amelie found herself muttering. Oh right, Angela’s contact showed at the top of the message. But wait, what? Angela didn’t do things like this normally. Well, not unless she was extremely drunk.

Oh.

She immediately dialed Angela. The phone rang only once before someone picked up. Someone who was laughing like a lunatic already.

“Angela,” Amelie cautioned before the other woman could speak. “How drunk are you.”

“How drunk is the moon?” Angela asked through her giggle fit.

“It’s not, because it’s a giant rock that orbits the earth,” Amelie reminded her. “So I’ll take that to mean that you are very drunk.”

“I have a secret,” Angela whispered into the receiver, still laughing. “Are you ready? I am so drunk, Amelie. I am so fucking drunk.”

Amelie sighed. From the sound of Angela’s voice, she was not lying. Amelie had seen her tipsy plenty of times, sure. Drunk a few, maybe. Flat out titty pic-sending wasted? Never. Well, almost never.

“Please tell me you’re at home,” Amelie begged.

“Of course. Torb got me a cab,” Angela answered. “Don’t you recognize my shower curtain in the picture? You bought it. Seafoam green, really Amelie? My apartment is a mess, but it’s not a mental hospital or anything like–”

Amelie interrupted her. “You’re rambling. Torbjörn Lindholm, right? The little Swedish guy?”

“Duuuuude,” Angela replied. “He made the BEST vodka and shared it with the officers today. I swear to God, Amelie–it tasted like I was drinking water. It was soooooo smooth.”

Well now. That explained things. Amelie managed a smile, but tried not to let any hint of it slip into her voice. “Drink some water,” she chastised. “Actual water, not vodka that tastes like water.”

“I wanna drink you instead,” Angela purred. “My tall glass of water. French water. Fucking Evian. You fancy bitch.”

Despite all of her best efforts, a chuckle escaped Amelie’s lips and made its way into her phone. There went her best attempt at being responsible. “Are you drunk flirting with me?”

“How hot is the moon? Because you’re hotter,” Angela retorted.

“Depending what side is facing the sun, it could be very hot or very cold,” Amelie informed her.

Angela snorted. “How do you know all these moon facts?”

“Television,” Amelie answered simply. “I had the science network on before I put on my baking show.”

“Oh my God Amelie. How many times do you need to watch other people make baguettes? Come over here and fuck me. That’s much more interesting,” Angela promised.

“But I’d be taking advantage of you,” Amelie teased.

“I’m not drinking a drop of water until your Evian ass is sitting in my lap. Get over here now,” Angela demanded.

Well, Amelie was not one to disobey. She also needed to get to Angela before she got anymore photos of her body parts. Not that Amelie particularly minded those, but she honestly wasn’t sure how to delete them off of her new phone and didn’t feel like figuring it out. One tit pic was excusable as a terribly embarrassing accident. Multiple photos were another thing.

So she caught a taxi and headed for Angela’s.

Thankfully, she only got one more picture on the way there. It was a bottle of water, unopened, resting in Angela’s cleavage, with the caption: “I don’t have any fucking Evian. Please accept this store brand trash water instead.”

Incidentally, as she was buzzing her way into Angela’s apartment, Amelie figured out how to delete messages on her new phone.

She was surprised that Angela was still dressed when she opened the door. Well, dressed was a relative term. She had on an Overwatch-branded hoodie, slung over some silky blouse that she must have worn to work. She had pajama shorts on…over ripped nylons.

Angela thrust a bottle of water at Amelie and pulled her inside. “Hey fancy water,” she slurred. “Why don’t…wait…uh…why don’t you drink yourself?”

The corners of Angela’s mouth curled into a grin. It looked like she wanted to laugh at her own terrible joke, but her body was lagging too far behind to push enough air out of her lungs to make a laugh.

Amelie shook her head and smiled. “Exactly how much of Mr. Lindholm’s Swedish-Engineered vodka did you have?” she asked as she handed the water bottle back to Angela.

Angela only failed to grab it once, to her credit. She shook her head after the first attempt and seemed to clear her vision enough to grab it from Amelie’s hand on the second. “Honestly, I don’t even remember. We were having a little barbecue outside of the flight test hangar. It was fun, I think.”

Amelie chuckled. She was long past playing the part of the concerned upstanding citizen at this point. Drunken mess though she was, Angela was adorable with her cheeks all flushed and her hair a mess. “Well, I’m glad you enjoyed yourself,” Amelie told her. “Now, since I’m here, you better drink that water.”

“But your amazing ass isn’t in my lap yet,” Angela pouted. “You’re just standing in my kitchen and looking smug.”

Amelie wagged her finger at Angela. “If I wasn’t afraid that you might vomit on me, I’d consider agreeing to that, but right now, I think you should drink that. I mean, I’m not doctor, but–”

Angela cut her off as she twisted the lid of the bottle open. “Yeah, yeah. I know. I know.” She then proceeded to down more than half the contents of the bottle in on impressive gulp. Angela noticed this and was very proud of herself. She went to go flex at Amelie, but lost her balance somehow.

Amelie caught her before she could fall into the kitchen counter.

Angela wouldn’t let her go afterward. “I was so convinced that I was gonna fuck the shit out of you tonight. I think…I think that’s probably a bad plan, huh?”

Amelie chuckled and brushed a few stray strands of Angela’s hair back into place behind her ear. “Not bad, just improbable.”

“Can we just sleep? Is that okay?” Angela pleaded into her girlfriend’s collar bone.

“Of course,” Amelie told her. “But finish your water.”

Angela’s fingernails dug into Amelie’s sides a little. She still wasn’t letting go. “If I do, will you stay the night with me? Make sure I don’t do anything stupid?”

Angela smelled like grilled sausages, cabs, and a cigarette that was supposed to have been covered up with a very minty piece of gum. She was warm and loose in Amelie’s arms, like a hot towel just out of the dryer–a very drunk towel.

“I can’t guarantee that you won’t do anything stupid,” Amelie replied, “but if you do, I’ll be doing it with you.”


	3. Champagne Toast

Angela didn’t know what to expect from this invitation. Really. She certainly hadn’t expected the castle. What girl hadn’t had that fantasy? 

Except it wasn’t a prince that brought her here. No, a prince wouldn’t do for her. A dragon, maybe–but this time, it was a spider. 

Angela had allowed herself to get caught in said spider’s web. Instead of struggling, like your average fly had the sense to do, she wound herself further into the silky strands, willingly.

There were worse things to do. Smoking. Excessive drinking. Eating donuts for dinner three days in a row. Honestly, Angela was guilty of all of the above, so what harm could indulging in one more vice do?

Honestly, it was a castle. An invitation to dinner in a castle. Angela had imagined the scene from the old Beauty and the Beast movie. Would Amelie shovel her food into her mouth without the proper utensils? No. No she would not. 

Angela had to remember that she was just as much the beast here.

Still, the empty halls of the Chateau echoed just loud enough for her taste. Loud enough to let her know that they were alone.

Amelie met her in the dining room with a bottle of champagne and nothing else. No giant roast, fresh from the oven. No mashed potatoes. No delicate pastries. No dishes of vegetables that would grow cold as they lay untouched. None of that. Just a beautiful woman and a bottle of champagne that was chilling in a silvery bucket on the dusty dining table.

“That’s hardly dinner,” Angela commented, leaning her head toward said bucket.

“I’ve never been a good hostess. I think I have some MREs in the study, if you were looking for food,” Amelie replied.

Truth be told, Widowmaker didn’t eat much, so that was to be expected. The fact that Angela knew that was traitorous even. She didn’t want to think about what Tracer might say if she knew about all the empty plates Angela had witnessed over the last few months. Never mind the guilt she felt while looking at her full one that sat across the table.

But the castle was something else. It was in a state of disrepair, sure, but signs of attempts to restore its glory were hidden all over. A mop and bucket in the corner. Stacked cans of paint. A suit of armor half-polished. Angela wanted to mention something. She wanted to leave some accolade, just something that would let Amelie know she noticed, but didn’t know what to say. 

So instead, she looked around the disused dining hall and gave an appreciative hum. “Glasses?” Angela asked after what she felt was a sufficient amount of admiring.

“I don’t have any,” Amelie told her.

“But you have a bucket and ice to keep the champagne cold,” Angela protested.

“Priorities,” Amelie responded. “You can either drink champagne from a glass or at the proper temperature. The temperature is far more important. Besides, I haven’t unpacked the kitchen yet.”

Angela didn’t ask much more in the way of questions. She grabbed the bottle and, after a few sips, Amelie took it from her. Their motions were far too familiar, far too friendly. They were enemies that had been sharing a bed for months. Oh well. Too bad.

Angela finished off most of that bottle of champagne on her own. Amelie brought out another one, already chilled in the ancient refrigerator that in the kitchen she wouldn’t let Angela see. “It’s a mess,” she had protested.

So Amelie drank most of that bottle, but not enough to deprive Angela of a sufficient buzz.

Okay, she was drunk now. Oh well. Too bad. So sad. There were worse things.

You know, like following Amelie up a grand staircase and into a bedroom with a third bottle of champagne.

Angela had so many questions, but didn’t dare utter any of them. If Amelie wanted to explain how she acquired a castle, she already would have.


	4. Shameful

“You’re stretching them, you know.”

Angela stared up, vision blurry from combination of a nap and a lack of glasses. She couldn’t quite make out the face of the person standing above her, but she didn’t need to. The purple tint of her skin gave Amelie away.

“Shit.”

Angela looked down at herself to confirm that she should be swearing. Yup. She was still wearing Amelie’s favorite sweatshirt. And sleeping on her side of the bed. She was looking pretty pathetic, actually.

“I knew it. At first, I thought I was imagining things, but after the second one I knew it was you. The sleeve was brown, like you dipped it in coffee.”

But this shirt was so soft. It smelled nice. The other ones were too. She’d washed them, of course. She’d made sure they were neatly folded an back in their rightful place in Amelie’s dresser before she came home.She’d been very careful not to seem as needy as she was. But Angela’s mouth was like a bucket full of sand when she went to object. She must have been snoring too. Great.

“I get sent on a few assignments without you, and this is what you become.”

Angela never had this problem. In any other relationship she’d ever had, she would have been just as happy to be alone as she was with her significant other. Alone, she could get more work done. She could lose herself in it until she realized she had been awake for 48 hours straight and had consumed nothing but coffee and instant ramen in that time period.

“Really, Angela. I expected better of you,” Amelie said, finishing her tirade.

“It’s…I…” There was no excuse. She was pathetic. She was a sick puppy in love. She was passed out in nothing but her stolen sweatshirt, her underwear, and a giant puddle of her own drool. It was disgusting.

So she was honestly surprised to find a smile curve its way onto Amelie’s blue lips. She was shocked when a gentle laugh followed it. She was utterly confused when her girlfriend threw her bag down and laid next to her.

“Amelie,” Angela went to protest.

Cold fingers were tracing her jaw. “You can have that one now. Your ridiculous breasts always make them too baggy in the chest for me to wear after you’re done with them.”

Angela could feel the heat seeping into her face from that comment.

But Amelie was still smiling. “But don’t worry. It’s cute. I missed you too,” she said as she wiped a stray bit of drool from the corner of Angela’s mouth. Only then did she kiss her.


End file.
